


I know you’re afraid but we can’t hide here forever

by Amymel86



Series: Tumblr Prompts [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gore, Zombie Apocalypse, dialogue prompt, short fic, zombie apocalypse meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: She’s no fighter. How is she still alive when so many have gone?Luck. Sheer, dumb luck.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Tumblr Prompts [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/804069
Comments: 19
Kudos: 129





	I know you’re afraid but we can’t hide here forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts).



> Short fic for the dialogue prompt I received from the lovely Vivi

_“I know you’re afraid but we can’t hide here forever.”_

It’s what Arya had said. She was right. Sansa’s good sense knew she had been. But her gut? _Oh_ , her gut had been rolling at the thought of leaving this office block.

They’d managed to find it a month or so ago; some multi-story, grey-faced building that was a staple in the corporate landscape. The rather bland logo gave nothing away as to what exactly their operations were. As far as Sansa could tell from the snooping she’d done in many an office, the living people who used to call this building their workplace dealt with analytics – analytics of _what_ exactly she did not know.

But what she’d managed to analyse herself is the certainty that they were running out of food, and they were running out of water. Still, Sansa wanted to stay – she wanted to stay inside this building where there is row after row of cubicles, larger glass box offices, rooms filled with filing cabinets, photocopiers and most importantly, no walk nightmares like the dead wandering around outside.

Arya had talked her into it. She shouldn’t have needed to; Sansa knew, deep down that they couldn’t last here amongst the desks and the computers and the conference rooms. But she was scared. Whenever one of those- ... those _things_ comes anywhere near her, she freezes.

She’s no fighter. How is she still alive when so many have gone?

Luck. Sheer, dumb luck.

Except perhaps her luck has run out. She’s been separated from Arya – all these months they’ve survived just the two of them and now it’s just her – just her and her luck.

They’d tried to make a break for it – tried to hotwire a car, but a group of the dead found them and in all the confusion, they were separated. Sansa hid in a furniture store showroom and she’s not seen Arya since.

But now she has to do something. She’s scared, and she’s alone, and she can’t stay here.

Standing at the showroom floor-to-ceiling window, she watches a single walker shuffle close – a woman in a pencil skirt and what would’ve been a very cute cream blouse if it wasn’t stained with blood and muck and being worn by a dead woman who was missing half her jaw.

Sansa lightly taps the window with the chair leg she’d broken off earlier. Miss Pencil-Skirt turns towards the noise, what’s left of her lower jaw opening and closing with horrid decaying teeth as she groaned out a spitty hiss. Sansa’s heart was beating like a war drum.

_Oh, Gods, I hope this works!_

***

So far, so good.

Well, as good as one can get when they’ve covered themselves head-to-toe in the blood and guts of the dead.

She wanted to gag. She smelt like rotting flesh, she smelt like sweet decay – she smelt like one of _them._

And that’s how she’s managed it – to go undetected. To walk amongst the dead. She had to become one of them.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

It had been a silly idea she’d had a while ago but she’d been too afraid to test it.

Sansa shuffles along with a dead man with a bald head. He has a big, bloody stain on the front of his t-shirt. Her pulse is thrumming in her ears but the walker doesn’t even seem to notice her. She watches him for a little while, mimicking the drag of his right foot, his small, aimless steps, the listlessness of his limp arms. This is the closest she’s been to one of them without totally freaking the fuck out.

Keep your cool and find Arya.

Keep your cool and find Arya.

But the city is so big. She could be anywhere and the dead are _everywhere._

A group of five or six of them shuffle close, groaning and grunting and stinking worse than Sansa does right now. She wants to go back to that office block. The blood she’d rubbed on her face has dried tight over her skin. There’s congealed matter in her hair. She’s lost Arya. She can’t control her breathing. Why is she still alive? Robb died – _Robb!_ Why is _she_ still alive? She wants to claw her own skin off, wants to wash away her coating of decay with scolding hot water and scrub and scrub and scrub. Her eyes are screwed shut and she fights the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball and _weep._

Someone reaches out and holds her hand.

She hadn’t noticed it, but one of the dead had wandered so close. Sansa’s eyes flick open and for a little while all she sees is blinding white floaty dots that she cannot seem to blink away before her sight adjusts.

He’s covered head-to-toe in blood and guts just like her, but his eyes are alive. They are so incredibly alive.

 _“Breathe,”_ he whispers.


End file.
